Well punters, I finally did it. During my last visit to Bonnie Scotland I tried, against my more sensible judgment, a deep fried Mars bar.
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It wasn't my idea mind, the missus lived in Aberdoom for a year and never tried one and had it in her head that this weekend in question, this particular weekend of all weekends, was the weekend during which she was going to elegantly stuff a deep fried Mars bar down her throat, so in the interests of solidarity, so was I.
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Ye gods.
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The name 'Deep Fried Mars bar' conjures up all manner of mental images, none of them encouraging. An already sickly sweet chocolate bar coated in batter and deep fried in oil. You've got to be joking. In my home town, the Mars Bar is also the most well known gay bar in town... not worth pursuing that line of thought for now.
And it's Scottish; anyone familiar with the dietary habits of Jocks and their frequently hefty lassies should be afraid, very afraid of anything cullinary that was invented there. These jubes can eat a whole haggis, wash it down with a barrel of real ale and then head out to the nearest greasy spoon for bacon, eggs and chips. Perhaps the thinking is 'when in doubt, just spew it out' and then carry on?; certainly the footpaths around Union Street in Aberdoom or inside Marketgait in Dundee would appear to bear tortured witness to such a way of thinking on any saturday or sunday morning you dare to venture out on foot. Preferrably with sturdy shoes.
Don't get me wrong here, I love Scotland and Jocks are some of the funniest people I've ever met; they just seem to have taken daring each other to eat disgusting shit to heart like a national sport.
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Appararently the birthplace of the deep fried Mars bar is in Stonehaven, a pleasant fishing village just down the road from Aberdoom. Specifically the deep fried Mars bar is the product of the fertile imagination of the proprietors of the Carron chippie. For reasons best known to themselves, these jubes weren't open when we visited at five past two on a saturday arvo in January (after finally managing to drag the missus away from the fricken shops in Aberdoom).
So with nowt else to do in Stonehaven except have a quick dekko at the harbour and figure out whose car alarm was disturbing the peace in the market square, and with the clock ticking down to a hefty 30th birthday nosh-up that night, we headed south along the coastal road to Inverbervie.
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I have a fond recollection of my first visit to Inverbervie some years ago, having had a weekend to kill in Aberdoom and deciding to go somewhere, anywhere else, I'd hired a poxy wee buzz-box and pointed it's nose down the Stonehaven-Dundee coast road (maybe more on that stretch of tarmacadam on another post another day). Upon reaching Inverbervie, I'd recalled hearing that the Bervie Chipper was routinely declared 'Britain's best Chippie' and had decided to pop in for a quick one.
Quick being a relative term, it isn't really possible to scoff down an old school sized fillet of breaded haddock and enough chips to stave off an Irish famine with any real pretence of haste.
Prior to my most recent visit, I'd also heard some rumours that the Bervie Chipper did deep fried Mars bars and her-indoors was by now on a mission.
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A few brisk miles down the road, we arrived at Inverbervie to find that while the award winning Bervie Chipper was open, they did not infact stoop to having deep fried Mars bars on the menu. Figuring that it was game over for the deep fried Mars bars, but too hungry to contemplate foraging further afield we were pleasantly surprised when the cook emerged from kitchen, having heard my enquiry, and offered to whip one up if we sourced our Mars bars from the general store a couple of doors further up the high street; "I can deep fry anything pal".
You bloody bewdy!
So after a huge feed of haddock and chips and a generous helping of cooking oil and condiments, we were ready in anticipation of the deep fried Mars bars.
We'd opted out of the temptation for a side serve of mushy peas to make room for the deep fried Mars bar; an inspired decision as it turned out
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First impressions; no fricken Mars bar should ever be this big.
The sugared crust of the batter reminds me of something else eaten for desert after fish and chips when I was knee high to a grasshopper, but I'll be buggered if I can recall what. Looks were about where the similarity ends, back home in South Australia, it should always always butterfish and chips since we don't get haddock; I only learned recently that butterfish means mulloway... The recalled desert was probably banana fritter, though I was always a swwet tooth and preferred a pineapple fritter after my sunday fish and chips. But I digress again.
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Steaming deep fried Mars bars deposited on the table and next came the health warning. Not a lengthy disclaimer about the dangers of cholesterol, a surgeon general's warning about the long term health risk of unsaturated fat or oil, nor even one whit about the suicidal volume of sugar being contemplated for a single sitting; we were warned that bighting through the crust of the deep fried Mars bar could be dangerous because the melted sugar and chocolate might burn you. No shit? you really have to be committed to take on one of these bastards then.
Actually a deep fried Mars bar isn't as disgusting as it sounds (to normal people in any case); if it has cooled sufficiently not to attack your tongue, bottom lip and chin with a molten chocolate ejacualtion, Scotland's contribution to the world's desert menu is actually not bad. At the first anyway. The caramel has the consistency of hot jizz, the chocolate looks like it should be coming out of your other end in a hurry but those are mere bait; the real ambush is sprung by the semi-molten nougat.
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Nougat at sensible room temperature is always so chewy as to be a physical challenge to even the most enthusiastic diner. The United Nothing-doers are retarded to send wheat and rice to famine stricken regions of darkest Africa; they should send Mars bars to Darfur and then sit back to enjoy the spectacle of the natives going mental chewing the nougat for the rest of the day. Fun for the whole family!
As tin-lids, we were always told off for feeding our pet Shih-tzu caramel and nougat, but no matter how many bollickings we copped, it was always piss-funny watching Chang spend a frustrating hour trying to chew that goo, never spending the next day trying in vain to lick the residue from his fangs (PETA members, note that old Chang has long since shuffled off his mortal collar and is quietly buried in the back yard after succumbing to the affects of very old age, so don't send in the hippies in black to rescue him from his happy home just because he suffered the deprviations of the occassional nougat, you shit stirring whackers).
Nougat is a pain in the arse to eat for a very good reason; it is far too sickly sweet to eat at a normal pace, let alone quickly. I suspect it's a by virtue of a gentleman's agreement made in a smoke filled board room among the original manufacturers of nougat that it steadfastly sticks to your teeth like shit sticks to a blanket; you could spend a fortnight chewing each bight of nougat. Unfortunately, the nougat of a deep fried Mars bar has been boiled alive and has lost the will to resist. Istead it goes unexpectedly, effortlessly down, just like a dollup of snot accidently sniffed back too far up your nose and all the way to your throat. Slupp! By halfway through a deep fied Mars bar you should be about ready to violently chuck your guts up; especially after a full on feed of haddock and chips with vinegar.
The last time I had a sugar spew like that was at an Army training camp; I'd had far too much of the sickly ration pack cordial and after moving off had gotten ten seconds notice to move from my guts before it started. I'd managed to stay in step and from the right hand rank do a hastily improvised head and eyes and chunder right drill movement on the march on each time the left foot struck the ground; well I did for about four or five paces until the Troop Sergeant ordered me to fall out just as the blokes nearest me were threatening to begin sympathetic section spewing.
If after eating a deep fried Mars bar, you don't feel the slightest discomfort, don't worry about it as I am quite sure in this day and age there are telephone numbers you can call to get help with your substance addiction.
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Our nipper, who is four and could never say 'no' to junk food in general and chocolate in particular, had an epiphany when offered some of the deep fried Mars bar and decided to choose life.
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It was only by supreme power of mind over matter that the deep fried Mars bars were finished; after such a generous offer, it would have been properly rude not to finish (even with the entire digestive tract by now threatening open revolt) and in fairness, despite the sickly sweet onslaught of soft nougat, they were actually quite interesting.
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Maybe next time though, deep fried fun sized Mars bars would be smarter.
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It's here that I'll make a shameless plug and offer a special thanks to the staff of the Bervie Chipper who were kind enough to give a visiting rubber neck a unique taste of Scotland; even a mincer who isn't really man enough to tackle a whole deep fried Mars bar unassisted.
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